Page 22 of New Orleans Rush

Bea released his hand and picked up a gothic umbrella. She twirled it over her head. “You said we needed to remedy my limited New Orleans experience. We’re touring the city.”

“This isn’t the city. This is a tourist trap.”

“A fun tourist trap.” She spun her umbrella. His eyes didn’t stray from her face. His stare was so intense, she looked away. “I’m also on a fact-finding mission.”

There had to be some explanation why her pulse fluttered around him. Why her hand still tingled from holding his a moment ago. Her skin felt flammable when he was near. All lunch, his knee had grazed hers under their small table, an intimate pose that had satisfied her as much as the tasty food. Her only hypothesis: Huxley Marlow was indeed a vampire, and he’d cast her under his spell.

Two girls pushed into the shop and giggled at the corsets and fishnet stockings.

Standing too stiff to be comfortable, Huxley shoved his hands into his pockets. “The answer is five minutes.”

“Five minutes?”

“If your mission is to discover my attention span for kitschy New Orleans shops, the answer is five minutes.”

Then she’d better up her investigative activities. She dropped the umbrella and brushed her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck to him. “Do I have a bite here? It feels itchy.”

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Looks fine to me.” Not only did his attention remain locked on the delicate skin, but he feathered his fingers over her pulse point. “Looks perfect,” he murmured.

He eyed her neck like he wanted a bite, and goose bumps erupted along her shoulders. It was a point in the Vampire column. Not a good sign. Neither was his intimate voice. A Huxley murmur was a surefire way to distract her from her purpose.

Flustered, she picked up lacy thigh-highs, the perfect pair to add to her collection. “Do you like these?”

His nostrils flared. “I do.”

His darkening eyes darted from her exposed neck to the lacy vampire stockings. They’d just had lunch, but he looked ravenous, and her belly tumbled at his hungry gaze. Her stomach shouldn’t flip-flop when his stocking approval was a second check in the Vampire column. This called for drastic measures. The store was dark and cavernous, all vampire accoutrements equally as villainous-looking. She dragged him into a shaft of sunlight and examined his hand.

His warm breaths brushed the top of her hair. “Is this part of your fact-finding mission?”

“It is.” His skin was darker than hers, a hint of olive in the tone. Nothing out of the ordinary, unless she counted the way she wanted to kiss the center of his palm. “I’m checking for sparkles.”

“Is that a Twilight reference?”

The vampire shop must have given her away. That didn’t account for his specific question. She glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. “Have you read Twilight?”

“What’s your favorite book?”

His subject change made her dizzy. Or maybe it was how he’d curled his fingers around hers. They were now holding hands. In a vampire shop. In New Orleans. She couldn’t keep from grinning. “You read Twilight.” A statement this time.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Because she couldn’t stop picturing this imposing man on his back, book hovering over his face, flipping pages as Bella Swan swooned over Edward Cullen, and Edward Cullen fought his feelings for the mortal girl. Huxley was a romantic. “Do you read Harlequin novels, too?”

His eyes flicked to the left, then to the floor. “Of course not.”

That unsteady gaze was an admission if she’d ever seen one. Instead of making him more uncomfortable, she focused on his favorite-book question. Although she’d overworked her library card in recent years, her answer was a childhood comfort. “The dictionary,” she said.

“The dictionary,” he repeated. When she didn’t contradict him, he said, “A specific volume? Or the dictionary in general?”

“In general. Aside from Playboy, it was the only reading material in my house growing up. My father pawned our TV at one point, and I didn’t have many friends. I’d spend my free time turning baked beans into food sculptures, and I’d read the dictionary. Although Playboy did have interesting articles.”

His eyes swept over her face, a mix of wonder in his thorough perusal. This dashing man looked at her like she was the unicorn he’d always hoped existed. Then he smiled. A full-teeth smile, and heat flooded her chest. That smile was too tender and open to belong to a jaded immortal. It was a check in the Mortal Man column.

Another followed when she purchased the lacy thigh-highs, and Huxley blushed. Immortal men didn’t blush.

They visited a witchcraft shop next. Huxley pressed his hand to the small of her back and followed her inside the musty store. He indulged her as she picked up poppets and invented voices for the stuffed figures. He smirked when she modeled a selection of cloaks. Before she could coax him to try one on, her cell buzzed with a text.

Pay me or you’ll lose more than fingers.